


Christmas mixer

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Dogma (1999), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-22
Updated: 2004-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:26:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1633880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The office party from hell. Or possibly heaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas mixer

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Beth H.

 

 

There were few things, Metatron reflected as he knocked back his fourth   
tequila and then spat it into the beer glass in his hand, which proved the   
phrase 'God works in mysterious ways' more than a multidimensional Christmas   
mixer.

He'd narrowly avoided getting involved in the shoving match by the punch   
bowl, where a number of serene-looking young men in flowing white robes were   
arguing about something which was, no doubt, ineffable.

He'd smiled politely at the young woman in dramatic eye makeup and the tall,   
rather skeletal man in black robes who were discussing the comparative   
merits of cats and fish as pets for beings whose jobs involved a lot of   
travel.

But it seemed his luck had now run out.

"If you say 'wossname' one more bloody time, I will make the single goal of   
my eternal existence the constant struggle to make your life a living hell."

"Hell? Nah, mate, you're getting tangled up. 's isn't hell. Hell's got   
more... more thingies. Wos -"

Metatron's glare could have sliced porridge.

Astute readers will realise, of course, that many things in the multiverse   
are capable of slicing porridge. What made this instance notable was the   
fact that this hypothetical porridge, fearing such a display of disdain and   
withering frustration, would remain in neat segments for the next sixteen   
hours.

"Thingies," the first speaker's companion put in thoughtfully, examining the   
bottom of his glass. "Trinkets."

The first speaker, who was dressed in a black leather jacket, black jeans,   
and sunglasses, looked confused. Even moreso than he had earlier.

"How'd you know? You've never been to hell."

"Yes, but when you talk about it, you're very... wossname. Descriptive."

"And I honestly believed that no plane of reality could possibly contain two   
creatures more obnoxious than Jay and Bob," the Metatron said, and poured   
himself another drink. The bar was well stocked, which was lucky for the   
guests lucky enough to come from dimensions where drinking was permitted.

"You're from one of those places where heavenly beings don't get to have   
drinks then, eh?" Mr Black Leather asked. Metatron gave him a look which   
could have caused porridge to develop major neuroses which required many   
years of therapy to unravel.

"Quite."

"Oh, we must have a chat, then," his friend in quite said, instantly clean   
sober. "Crowley, do stop draping yourself over his arm like that. I can't   
take you anywhere without you misbehaving."

"'s not true. I behaved just fine in Majorca."

"You infected every computer in a four-mile radius with a chain letter   
virus. It crashed ten thousand systems."

"Like I said, I behaved."

"As fascinating as this conversation is, I think I have to go stare at   
bathroom grout for several hours. Goodbye."

Metatron walked off, the glass he'd been spitting his tequila into   
unceremoniously upended into one of the anaemic-looking pot plants dotted   
around the edges of the main conversation area. As well as the usual love   
and frustration Metatron had for the aspect of God in his world, he felt a   
surge of thankfulness that She was, at least, a joyous God. Universes where   
Heaven's holiday parties were decorated by a low-rent metaphysical catering   
and furnishing firm were not places Metatron liked to spend his time in if   
he could at all help it.

"Wait, please," the being in the earnestly tasteful white suit said,   
grabbing Metatron's arm. "I was wondering if you'd be able to pick up some   
books for me."

"What?"

"From your world. It's much easier to find them where you are, I believe.   
They're quite the runaway success. Never did much where I'm from, I'm   
afraid."

"You're not talking," Metatron said with the sigh of one who really, really,   
really misses hard liquor. "About the stories featuring the magical boy and   
his little friends?"

The being nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, those are the ones! The author gave   
up after number three in my world. I do so want to read the rest."

"Aren't you a little old to be interested in children's literature?"

"I have something of a collection," the being admitted.

"Oh, I know who you are! You're an angel from that world with the son of the   
Adversary running around in it!"

"Yes, that's the one. Aziraphale's the name," the being held his hand out.   
Metatron took it and shook.

"Your counterpart in my world caused quite a bit of trouble, y'know,"   
Metatron said conversationally. "Name of Loki. Fell after an incident   
involving too much liquor and an overtalkative friend."

Aziraphale glanced back towards where Mr Black Leather was attempting to   
sweet-talk the girl with the thick eye makeup and the ankh necklace. She   
smiled at him in the polite and distant way that people whose professions   
bring them into contact with people they don't really like very much but   
have to be nice to often have.

"That could never happen to me. He's been trying for thousands of years, and   
it hasn't worked yet." Aziraphale said after a moment, shaking his head.   
"No, no."

"Bet he hasn't been trying," Metatron counterd. "I'm not one to comment on   
other people's choices - though if we think too long about that, we'll get   
into the Free Will debate, and I think I heard one of those degenerate into   
name-calling by the canapes about half an hour ago - but, honestly, you're   
hanging around with the ruddy serpent. If he felt like it, he could talk you   
into anything that took his fancy."

"You don't have much faith in Heaven's ability to withstand the wiles of   
Hell, if you think that's true." Aziraphale sounded genuinely interested in   
Metatron's arguments.

"Heaven and Hell's got nothing to do with it. It's about love and betrayal,   
isn't it? 'S always about love and betrayal when it's their side and ours.   
Loki Fell because, for a fraction of a fraction of the smallest measurement   
time can be judged by, he loved Bartleby more than he loved God. Are you   
telling me that you've never, even for a moment, thought about doing   
something which would pit you against your superiors on the subject of -"   
Metatron gestured towards Mr Black Leather. "That."

Aziraphale didn't answer for a long time. "Yes," he answered finally. "Yes,   
I am telling you that."

"A world where angels are allowed to drink AND tell lies. And you're   
spending your time reading kids' books?" Metatron made a show of looking   
appalled. "There's obviously some kind of radiation in your atmosphere that   
leaves everyone on your Earth insane."

"Indeed," Aziraphale said dryly. "Your universe, obviously, isn't short on   
sarcasm. You had an incident with a younger generation recently also, didn't   
you?"

"Yeah, a bouncing baby girl. Keeps turning her pureed banana into toffee   
when her Mum's feeding her."

"Lovely," Aziraphale smiled. "I love children."

"Bet they hate you."

"I have had some trouble with them in the past, yes." The admission was   
rueful.

"Not surprised. You'd've expected them to be full of childlike wonder,   
instead of the snot and bad temper they're all brimming with." Metatron   
looked at his wrist, which until a second earlier had been bare. A tasteful   
and expensive watch caught the light. "Well, it's about time for me to go."

"Do you think you could see about getting those books?" Aziraphale asked,   
hopeful.

"All right. It's impossible to walk into a shop without being confronted by   
some bit of merchandise for them, especially since they made those films."

"Films? Oh, I'd love to see them!" The expression on Aziraphale's face was   
near-ecstatic. "Do you think...?"

"Your world got DVD players?"

"Yes."

"See what I can do," Metatron promised.

After all, maybe he could get away with a drink or two while he was   
visiting.

 

 

 


End file.
